Shimmer
by Wolfchild
Summary: Mulder shuts Scully out in an attempt to protect her, which ends up forcing them both to take a look at their relationship.


  
  
TITLE: Shimmer  
AUTHOR: Wolfchild (E. Cooper)  
EMAIL: wolfchild_01@yahoo.com  
ARCHIVE: Gossamer only, for now. Anyone else, please ask.  
CATEGORY: S/M Angst  
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully UST, I guess. I don't think there's anything in   
here that could actually classify as a romance, maybe someone else will though.   
NoRomos shouldn't be too traumatized by this.  
RATING: PG-13, for language  
SPOILERS: Hmmmm. . .slight for the Pilot, Irresistible, Grotesque, The Red   
and the Black, Folie A Deux, beyond that none really. If you've seen them,   
you'll know what they are.  
SUMMARY: Scully decides to leave Mulder after he slips back into the dark   
void, and it leads them both to question their actions.  
DISCLAIMER: I'm using the characters that Chris Carter created, and they   
belong to him, 1013, and FOX. I swear I'm not making any money whatsoever   
from this. It's just for my own personal amusement. Also, the song that's   
scattered through out the story is called, oddly enough, "Shimmer" and is off   
Shawn Mullins' CD, Soul's Core. I don't own the song, the album, or Shawn.   
Just borrowing the song temporarily.   
  
NOTE: This is my first attempt at an actual posted fanfic. Or maybe it's just   
the only one of several I could actually get organized enough to write down and   
have make some sort of sense. The song used herein just kinda of clicked on the   
light when I heard it. To get the full effect, you should probably hear the song.   
I'm not saying "go buy CD, ungah", but maybe just take it to the counter and   
just listen to this song, #13.   
Feedback, constructive criticism, and comments are greatly appreciated, given   
this is my first attempted fanfic post. Any flames will be used to help start some   
fires at my camping excursions.  
  
_______________  
  
Shimmer  
by Wolfchild  
  
"sharing with us what he knows  
shining eyes are big and blue  
and all around him water flows  
this world to him is new  
this world to him is new"  
  
The rain pelts the windows of my home like teardrops. They splatter as they hit   
the panes of glass, not unlike my own tears did as they hit the table in my living   
room not long ago. I did what I had once thought was impossible today. I   
walked away. And tore out my own heart along with his.  
It had all started when he got a call a little less then 2 weeks ago. The VCS had   
a case, and they wanted his help. They needed his help, his expertise. And he   
had agreed. I don't know why he did. He knew what would happen, we both   
did. I was, of course, against it. He swore he wouldn't get in too deep, and I   
wanted to trust his word. I wanted to believe so badly that it wouldn't happen   
again. But, I knew it would. He must have too, or he wouldn't have insisted I   
join him. He did know, he's a psychologist, for God's sake. He saw it all   
coming yet he didn't do a damn thing to stop it.  
It was barely a week later when it came to a crest. I found him in our office, yes   
our office. The evidence was spread out all around him, the walls, the desk, and   
the floor. Pictures of the crime scenes hanging all around, battered and   
mutilated bodies, chalk outlines, everywhere. It looked just like his apartment   
had during the Mosteau case. He stood in the middle of it all, head bent, staring   
at a photo-file on the floor. He looked like a tragic Greek hero, a statue frozen   
in a private hell. He didn't even hear when I approached, barely registered my   
presence, even after I said his name several times. Only when I made physical   
contact, lightly touching his arm, did he slowly turn his head to me, and I saw   
everything clear on his face. Loose, disheveled strands of hair clung to his   
sweat-coated forehead. He had a growth of beard around his face, the sweat   
droplets glistening off of it. His clothes hung off his body. I could tell he hadn't   
eaten or slept in days, let alone showered. But his eyes, blood-shot and glazy,   
held nothing at all. Eyes I could normally read so well, so expressive, were   
empty, dead black pools. And I knew I had to get him out of there. I tried to   
make him leave, convince him to come get something to eat, to sleep, anything   
to get him away from this dungeon that trapped him. But, he wouldn't budge,   
even when I offered to pay, his choice of seedy diner. But, he stepped out of my   
grasp, moving to another picture, another file. He told me to go, to "have fun".   
And I refused. If he was going to do this to himself, I was going to stay and   
make sure he didn't kill himself.   
  
That's when he snapped.  
  
He ordered me to leave, ranted and raved, said things I knew he didn't mean,   
things he wouldn't have said had it not been for lack of food and sleep. I tried   
not to yell back, to get drawn into the void that had taken over him. I tried to   
keep my composure when his had flown for the hills long before. And, I failed.   
I shouted back, met him jab for jab. Parry, thrust, parry, parry, thrust. Until,   
finally, the small semblance of control he had retained slipped beneath the oily   
surface. With a movement so quick I barely registered it, his coffee cup flew   
across the room, connecting explosively with the shelving near the door, leaving   
a dark liquid stream running down it. But, with that momentary fit of violence,   
his anger seemed to evaporate, and was replaced with the emotionless shell of   
this man I knew. His shoulders slumped, and without a word, he picked his   
jacket up from the floor, and walked out the door, leaving me in the shattered   
office.  
  
"to touch a face  
to kiss a smile  
new eyes see no race  
the essence of a child  
the essence"  
  
I didn't see him after that night, though I tried to find him. I wanted to   
apologize . . . . and to say goodbye. I knew he thought he was protecting me by   
avoiding me, trying to spare me anymore grief. Yet, somewhere deep down, I   
couldn't help but think that he was ignoring me because I because I had let him   
fall into his torment. And that's why I felt I had to go. But he was nowhere to   
be found. Even the Guys couldn't contact him. I checked everywhere I could   
think of, and even considered paying a visit to Patterson. Anything that would   
tell me where he was. In the end, I was forced to write it all down and leave it   
under his door. And, I walked away from it all.  
I told him in that letter, I was leaving because I couldn't stand by and watch him   
do this to himself anymore. That I wouldn't be around to pick up the pieces   
when he finally broke completely. It was a lie, and I knew it. I couldn't have   
walked away from him if I wanted to. But, the truth was I couldn't stand that I   
had failed him. He had asked for me on this case because, I knew, he needed me   
as a safety net. In case the rope became too narrow, or he lost his footing. He   
knew I would try to catch him with everything I had. And I did try. And I still   
couldn't stop it from happening. He trusted me, and I had failed him. I didn't   
try to stop the tears as the rain began.   
  
"he's born to shimmer, he's born to shine  
he's born to radiate  
he's born to live, he's born to love  
but we'll teach him how to hate"  
  
So, now I sit here in my dark home, curled up in my over-sized audoman,   
watching the rain fall, and wondering where it all began. Where did this   
darkness inside him come from? What is it that makes him recede into it?   
When did he come to mean so much to me? When did his well-being come to   
be so much more important then my own? From the day I entered the academy,   
I heard the stories of the dark-basement dwelling denizen. Tales of crazy,   
Spooky Mulder, king of paranoia. And, like every other new recruit, I fell into   
listening to them, but never really considering them as fact. Not until that day   
Blevins called me in, and told me I would be working with the myth himself. I   
had heard the stories, knew some by heart, and now I would find out if they   
were true. And, at first, they seemed to be. Until that second night in Oregon. I   
ran to his room, half-naked and panicked. I sought him for reassurance, and he   
was there, comforting me gently. And, he sought me for a confidant. I learned   
the truth that night. From that day forward, whenever I heard a whispered   
cautioning, a sympathetic or patronizing comment, I just smiled politely and let   
then go on believing in their myths. I knew the truth. The darkness that was all   
that anyone else saw, the shroud that hid him from all prying eyes, it has a light.   
I had seen it. It was buried deep, but it was there, in his gentle voice and touch.   
And in his eyes.   
God, those eyes. With their beautiful, ever-changing shades of green-brown.   
How they're always so wide and excited, especially when he has a theory about   
a case. An outlandish idea or plan that would be considered by anyone else as a   
free ticket to the loony bin. He always looks so much younger when he's   
explaining one of his theories to me, so child-like in his enthrallment. I can't   
help but smile. And when he's sad, his eyes a watery hazel, but the light still   
shining in it's depths, I just want to wrap him up in my arms and guard him from   
everything in the world that would harm him.  
But, now the darkness holds him tightly in its grasp. The inky blackness that   
had enveloped him so long ago when his beloved sister had been taken had   
resurfaced in full force. And those bastards had known it would. They had   
known what would happen to him, known that in order to find their answers, he   
would let himself sink down into it. Just like Patterson had known. And they   
didn't care anymore than he had. No one did. Except for me.  
And I had walked away. The only person on the planet who could see him, his   
"one in five billion", had abandoned him, just like everyone else.   
I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the sob that chokes out.   
He's been there for me every time I needed. While I was in the coma, after   
Pfaster, during the cancer, during the fleeting time with Emily. He never once   
turned me away when I was in despair. After everything he's done for me,   
everything he's been to me, I turned away when he needed me most. I've left   
him to the jackals. This man who means more than the world to me, who's   
sacrificed more than I can imagine for me.   
My eyes fall from the window to the table just below it, to a picture sitting on it,   
a lighthouse in the dark sea. We stand together, side by side as always, his arm   
around my shoulders, my head resting against his chest. We're both smiling   
brightly.   
  
And the light is shining from his eyes.  
  
God, what have I done?  
Swiftly wiping away my tears, I stand and walk to the door, grabbing my coat   
from the couch and my keys from the coffee table on the way. I head out the   
door, shutting it softly behind me and praying it's not too late.  
  
____  
  
"true love it is a rock  
smoothed over by a stream  
and no ticking of a clock  
truly measures what that means  
truly measures what that means"  
  
I can hear the rain as it pelts the windows of my apartment, but I don't dare look   
up to it. I don't dare to look anywhere but dead ahead, into the dark. I don't   
deserve anything more. Not after everything I've done.  
It all started with that call from the VCS a few weeks back. They wanted my   
help. I was a little shocked. After what happened with Patterson, I would have   
thought they would have sooner asked Krycek for help. I guess these guys   
didn't know about me. Maybe they did and just didn't care.  
A murderer with a penchant for young girls, rope, and being extremely hard to   
catch. Great, just what my already damaged psyche needed. A good kick in the   
ass. They needed my profiling skills, my expertise, they said. I was almost   
flattered. The keyword being almost. Yet, I still agreed to help. I don't really   
know why. My psychology training would tell me that I was unconsciously   
seeking redemption, something to absolve my guilt. Maybe so. Still, I agreed to   
help on one condition. That she could join the team, help out with the   
investigation. I knew they wouldn't deny someone with her skills a position   
among their ranks. Maybe she could even earn some recognition in the Bureau   
along the way. But the truth was, I needed her there. I knew it could happen,   
knew I could fall. Not like I had far to go. And I wanted her there to catch me.   
I needed her to.  
  
I'm a selfish bastard.  
  
She showed up at the office that night, as I knew she would. I didn't want her to   
see me the was I was but there was no where else for me to go. I needed to   
work. I needed get the memories out of my head. She found me in a moment   
when everything was down. I had been sucked into that void, that dark place   
that had appeared after Samantha was taken. I had slipped back into it. And, I   
knew, when she looked into my eyes, that she saw it too. She tried to pull me   
away from it, tried to get me to leave it behind and come with her. But, she   
couldn't see that I had to stay, that I had to do this, to get rid of the memories   
that haunted me. I told her to go. But she refused, insisted on staying in the   
darkness with me. Like a flickering lantern.  
  
And I snapped.  
  
I don't remember much of what happened next. I can hear the words, but can't   
remember saying them. All I knew was that I couldn't let her do it. I wouldn't   
let her follow me into this cursed abyss. And so I lashed out. I pushed her   
away, the one person who could have saved me. I heard her yell the words back   
at me. She tried so hard not to. . .and they stung. Five years of anger, pain, loss,   
and repressed emotions came hurtling out of our mouths, misdirected into ugly   
slashes. We knew the words hurt, but they didn't stop. Not until my loose grip   
on control finally dropped, and the next thing I knew, my coffee cup was   
shattered into a million pieces on the floor. The coffee stained the shelf where   
they cup had collided. I looked back to her, looking to send my point home, but   
her gaze stopped me. The look of terror on her face, absolute disbelief, was   
more than I could bear. My shoulders drooped, the same emptiness returning as   
before, and without giving myself a chance to say anything else that could widen   
the tear, I grabbed my jacket and walked out the door.  
I adamantly avoided her for the next week, trying to spare her any more pain   
that my obsession caused. I knew she was looking for me. Numerous messages   
from her, Skinner, even the Gunmen littered my answering machine. She   
pleaded with me to call her, stop by, something to show signs of life. But I   
couldn't face her. I knew what she wanted to see me for, and I couldn't bear to   
hear it. I didn't want to face the fact that my rock was floating away.  
  
"and this thing we call our time  
heard a brilliant woman say  
she said you know it's crazy   
how I want to try and capture mine  
I think I love this woman's way"  
  
I arrived home tonight after an evening of hiding out. The case was over. It had   
been a long couple of weeks, but I turned in my profile today, haggard and dark.   
They seemed pleased, whether it be about the profile or my current mental state,   
I couldn't tell. I didn't particularly care. I told them to never ask for me again.   
This case had cost me the last thing I held dear. Which was why when I found   
that letter under my door, I hesitated in opening it. I could already hear the   
words. I dropped onto the couch, not bothering to take off the leather jacket. I   
couldn't get any colder then I already was. I gently opened the stark white   
envelope and let it fall to the floor. I carefully unfolded the neatly creased   
paper, and with a heaviness I never knew before, began to read.   
  
"I think I love this woman's  
way she shimmers, the way she shines  
the way she radiates  
the way she lives, the way she loves  
the way she never hates"  
  
So, now I sit here, in the dark and empty apartment, it's pallor reflecting my   
soul. I hate what I have become. This empty, soulless, emotionless shell. I hate   
what I have done to those around me. To Scully.   
  
Scully.  
  
Just her name is enough to make me smile. She is. . .everything to me. I can   
admit that now that I have nothing left to lose. And, any other time, I would   
have been grateful for her shoulder. But, not this time. No, I had decided that   
she's been through enough. So, despite everything she's been I push her away.   
Only this time, she didn't resist. Well, I got my wish.  
I lash out angrily at the room, kicking and hitting anything I can reach. The   
coffee table up-ends, the desk is cleared, the couch cushions sail around, finding   
resting points in all the corners of the room.  
I got my wish.  
Dropping back onto the couch, I lean my elbows on my knees and cover my face   
with my hands.  
Oh, God, what have I done?  
  
____  
  
"sometimes I think of all this that can  
surround me  
I know it all as being mine"  
  
My car comes to a skidding stop as I barely make the white line before the light   
turns red. As I stare ahead and think back on all that's happened to us, I wonder   
what I'll say when I see him.   
"Gee, sorry I didn't stick around to help you out here, but I was late for my nail   
appointment." Yeah, right. And yet, I know I am the only one who can heal   
this wound. But so much has happened, what can I say that would begin to   
make up for what I did?  
  
"but she kisses me and she wraps herself  
around me  
she gives me love, she gives me time"  
  
I turn the cold metal over and over in my hands, watching how the light bounces   
off of it. Maybe, it would all be so much easier. For everyone, if I only had the   
guts to end it. If I wasn't arrogant enough to think someone might miss me.   
This quest, it's cost us both so much. And yet, she's stood with me. This is how   
I would repay her?  
  
"and I feel fine"  
  
As the light turns green, and I press down on the pedal, urging the car forward, I   
know the answer.  
  
"I feel fine"  
  
As I set the gun down on the couch beside me and carefully slide it out of reach,   
I know the answer.  
  
____  
  
"but time I cannot change  
so here's to looking back"  
  
The elevator doors slide open and I step out into the hallway, the path that leads   
to his door. As I take the first steps, it suddenly seems so much farther, the   
distance almost being insurmountable. Just like the task I have to face. I know   
we cannot change everything that has happened, all the people who have been   
lost. All the words that have been lashed. "What's done is done," the old cliché   
says. "You can't change the past." Maybe not, but you can help heal it. You   
can help heal the wounds. If you'll only be let in.  
I stand in front of his door, hesitating. I lightly lay my hand on the knob, and   
offer up a silent prayer. *Please, Mulder, let me in.*   
My wrist twists, the knob turns and the door slowly swings open. I offer up a   
thank you to whatever deity heard me. I walk into his apartment, into the dark   
that reflects his turmoil. The only light comes in from the hallway through the   
doorway, and from outside through the windows in his living room. Beacons in   
the night. I walk forward to the living room. And find him sitting there on the   
couch. He's leaning forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. I did   
this to him. The thought springs forward before I can stop it. And it stings. No,   
I think back. They did this to him. Those men who took his sister, who killed   
his father. Patterson, those bastards in the VCS. They sent him spiraling into   
this madness. But, can I help pull him out, help him see the light that is inside?   
I have to, for both of us.  
I walk forward to him, not entirely sure if he's aware that I'm here. If he's   
aware of anything at all. I kneel in front of him, and as I do, I notice the gun   
sitting at the other end of the couch, the cold metal gleaming in the dim light.   
*Oh, Mulder. I'm sorry it had to come this far.* I look back to him, watching   
the rise and fall of his back as he breathes. I reach up, and gently lay my hands   
over his.  
  
____  
  
"you know I'd drink a whole bottle of my pride  
and I'd toast to change  
to keep these demons off my back  
just get these demons off my back"  
  
I sit with my head in my hands, my heart in my feet. My old companion is   
perched squarely between my shoulder blades, daring me to pick up the gun that   
sits just out of my immediate reach.  
My self-righteous honor has pushed her away, my belief that she didn't   
understand, that I had to protect her. Fool. She's stronger then I'll ever be, and   
she was only doing what I asked of her. Trying to keep me afloat. And I lashed   
out. Kept the one person who could have saved my worthless ass from getting   
close enough to even try.   
*Way-to-go, Mulder*, my companion caws. *Another one down the drain.   
Well, what're you gonna do now?*  
How about sit here and mope for starters? Think how if she was here right now,   
I'd throw myself at her feet and apologize for everything. Tell her how much I   
need her. That to keep what's left of my sanity, I need her to be standing with   
me.   
*Well, I guess that's good for now.*  
Somewhere, I hear the sound of a door opening. It sounds closer then I know it   
is, and for I moment I think, I hope, it could be her. I hear footfalls, becoming   
louder with each step, coming towards me. But, I don't look up. I don't dare. I   
know if I do, the room will be empty and that's not something I can face now. I   
close my eyes and stay still. The footsteps stop in front of me, and I don't open   
my eyes. I hear the rustle of fabric against carpet, but I don't open my eyes, and   
I pray that this hallucination will end before the last little shred of my sanity   
evaporates. There is a dead silence in the room, and I release a breath I didn't   
realize I was holding. My heart sinks to the floor. And, suddenly, I feel warm   
hands cover my own.  
  
____  
  
"cause I want to shimmer, I want to shine  
I want to radiate"  
  
He shudders slightly as my fingers lay over his, but remains unmoving. I try to   
communicate through this small touch, try to get him to look at me. He doesn't   
budge, and I wonder briefly if that shudder had been pure reflex. A reaction   
built on years of abuse. I close my eyes momentarily, praying yet again, that he   
won't push me away. Gently, I slip my fingers around his hands and pull them   
down from his face. His eyes are closed. Lightly, I brush my thumbs over the   
back of his knuckles. Nothing. For a moment, I fear he has completely shut   
himself off. That he feels nothing anymore, not even a physical caress. Then,   
slowly his eyes open and he raises his head, locking me with a gaze. I have seen   
this look before, and I nearly weep. It is the same look he had on his face after   
the MPs brought him to the car at Wiekamp AFB. I had made a similar gesture   
then too. Taking his hand and pulling it down from his eyes. He had a look   
then, like the look he has now. A look like his whole world has been turned   
upside down. Again.   
I look into his eyes. They are no longer dead pools. The blackness that so   
recently shrouded them from even me has receded. In it's wake, such an   
incredible amount of sorrow has taken up residence that the lump that has been   
sitting in my stomach all day slides up into my throat.  
*Mulder, I'm so. . . .so sorry.*  
With my eyes, I try to communicate all that I have been feeling, been living with   
for the past several days. I watch as his eyes skim over my own, over my face.   
I pray he can see what I'm telling him. That I'm so sorry for letting this happen.   
That I need him. I need him to get through this, and that I need to help him to   
get through this. I watch his eyes take in the sight of me, as if he believes that   
I'm not really there.   
And, then the impossible happens.  
The light, so recently shrouded in darkness, anger, and hatred, glimmers   
somewhere in the back of his eyes. I watch it in amazement, thinking that   
perhaps my eyes are deceiving me. That I want it so badly I believe it is   
happening.  
As if to reassure me of what is real, he pulls his right hand free of my left, and   
brings it up to my face, cupping my cheek. I watch as the confusion steadily   
begins to lift from around him, and an air of clarity takes it's place.   
"Scully?" he croaks out in a hoarse voice, caught somewhere between a   
whimper and a whisper. Tears well up, and the lump catches in my throat so   
that I can't speak. Instead, I just nod.  
A wave of emotions crash over his face. Confusion, fear, sorrow, and, finally,   
relief. He releases a shuddering breath, and drops his gaze from mine, letting   
his chin fall to his chest. When he doesn't look back up after a minute, I gently   
slip my finger under his face and bring his eyes back up to mine. They are a   
watery hazel, and begging me for forgiveness. He thinks he's at fault. The   
corners of my mouth turn slightly upward at the irony. With my faint hint of a   
smile, the remaining weight seems to lift off his shoulders. The corners of his   
mouth quirk upward slightly, the light shimmering forth. My own tears fall   
freely down my cheeks as I slowly fall forward against him.   
  
____  
  
"I want to live, I want to love  
I want to try and learn not to hate"  
  
A shiver traces itself up my spine, then down through me at her touch. It feels   
cold for some reason, and I figure that it's because it's not really her. Just a   
hallucinatory reaction to my sorrow. A specter. The brief warmth I had felt was   
nothing more then my wishful thinking.  
Then, I feel her fingers wrap around mine and gently pull my hands down from   
face. Yet, I still don't look up or open my eyes. I feel her lightly brush my   
knuckles with her thumbs, and a warmth seeps over my hands.  
That was no hallucination.  
I dare the impossible. I open my eyes and slowly look up. My eyes lock on   
hers.  
She's really here. This isn't some pain-enduced hallucination, some wish made   
reality by my deeply troubled imagination. It's really her. I feel my throat catch   
at her loyalty to me. After all the crap I've put her through over the past few   
weeks, she's still here.  
I don't deserve her.  
I stare into the crystals that are her eyes, and gaze in amazement at what I see   
there.  
Pain, sorrow, sympathy. All things I know I've caused. But, something else   
stirs there as well. Something that I know all too well, that I'm all too familiar   
with.  
Guilt.  
She thinks this is her fault. That the reason I dwell in this cave is because she   
couldn't save me.  
Oh, Scully.  
Gently, I disengage my hand from hers and bring it up to her face, carefully   
cupping her cheek. Mentally, I push away all the fog and cobwebs covering my   
mind and gaze at her, truly, for the first time in weeks. I hear myself choke out   
her name. Her eyes tear up instantly at the sound of her name on my lips and   
she nods.  
I start to lose it at the sight of her tears, and I think for the millionth time how   
much I don't deserve her. I sigh, and drop my gaze and my head from hers,   
letting my chin touch my chest. I can't look at what I've done to her. I can feel   
the mist covering my eyes. Her touch comes out of nowhere, gentle and   
pleading. Her fingers bring my face back up to her level and our eyes once   
again lock. I pour every ounce of begging I have left into that look. Pleading   
with her for forgiveness, and praying beyond all else that she can see it.   
For a long agonizing moment, she watches me blankly, and I think how lost I   
will be. Then, I watch in amazement as the corners of her mouth turn upward in   
a gentle smile.   
I feel a great weight lift off me and I return her smile with the best one of my   
own I can muster. And, I can feel the darkness receding as she falls forward into   
my arms.  
  
____  
  
"try not to hate  
we're born to shimmer  
we're born to shine  
we're born to radiate  
we're born to live, we're born to love  
we're born to never hate"  
  
His arms wrap around me and pull me closer to him. I slip my arms around his   
waist, holding onto him tightly. My tears are seeping through his shirt where   
my head rests on his chest, yet, at the moment, I don't think either of us really   
cares. I can feel his tears falling onto my head and shoulders. Beyond that,   
however, there is nothing. All I can feel is relief, and exhaustion, and all I   
would wish to do now is curl up and go to sleep. But, I don't want to be   
separated, even for an instant, from the man who's arms are now hugging me   
fiercely, and who's body is trembling only slightly less then mine. And in   
another perfect example of our communication, unspoken or otherwise, I can   
feel him lift his head slightly from my shoulder and tug me forwards. I don't   
hesitate, and climb up onto the couch beside him as his lies back. My arms find   
his waist again as we settle and I cling to him, while his head rests just above   
mine. Our tears have subsided somewhat, though we're both content to just lie   
here and hold each other. The healing must begin. Cars pass by on the street,   
sirens wail from some part of the city, the livelihood of society goes on around   
us. But, here, right now, in his apartment, all that matters is the two of us.   
  
End  
_____  
  
Okay, the ending is a little weak. I might go back and redo that. Feedback is   
appreciated!  
  
  



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